I raise one eyebrow, showing mild interest in that fact. Inside, my head is spinning with this information. I’m learning more about Sloane Alexander from this one conversation than anything Jaques has obtained.
“The details are irrelevant to you, I’m sure. Suffice it to say that a friend of his works at one of Gabriel Fouché’s many microchip companies. He was the one who actually performed the dirty work, using a program that Theodore created. After being caught, both of them are, interestingly enough, still not behind bars. But Theo’s big sister is here in Monte Carlo courting the infamous Magnus Reinhardt.”
Now, it makes sense. It’s no wonder Sloane’s brother didn’t raise any suspicion for Jaques. He never even worked directly for Gabriel, which would have been a major red flag had I known.
And now I do.
“So, what is Sloane after?”
The Pirate shrugs, then gives me a wicked grin. “That you will have to get straight from her lips.”
I suppose that would have been too much to ask for.
“The question is, have I met my part of the deal?”
Chapter Fourteen Sloane
“Just the right mix of sophistication, class, and sex appeal,” I say as I look at myself in the mirror. The latter is something I’d never normally resort to but, when in Monte Carlo…
The second shop I went to today was far more accommodating. This Pucci wrap-dress is a bit flashier than I’d normally wear, but the colors and style suit me. In fact, it makes me rethink my normally conservative bent toward neutrals and basic cuts in clothing.
I walk over to pick up the invitation from Magnus. I realize that I have no idea where this restaurant is. Is it even in this hotel?
Only one way to find out.
I sigh and pick up the phone, pressing the one for Front Desk again. Sure enough, I get Neville on the other end.
“Bonsoir, Madame Alexander, how can I be of service?”
“First of all, it’s Mademoiselle,” I say for some reason. I get the formality and the just in case default to “Madame,” but I am, in fact, still very single, and still only twenty-nine.
“Of course, Mademoiselle Alexander,” he says graciously. “How can I be of service?”
“The restaurant, where I’m meeting Mag—Monsieur Reinhardt, can you tell me how to get there?”
“I will be right up to escort you.”
“I don’t need an escort; simple directions will do.”
“It would be easier if I—”
“No, no, I think I can manage on my own.”
“I insist, Mademoiselle Alexander.”
I pause, wondering if it’s a courtesy or an order. “Do you think I’ll get lost?”
“Of course not, Mademoiselle Alexander. I will be right up to escort you.”
I pause again, realizing that we’re just going around in circles. “Fine then.”
I hang up and wait. It’s obvious now that there was no way that man was letting me go on my own. Maybe he does think I’ll get lost, or maybe he has strict orders to keep a firm eye on me. I make a mental reminder to refrain from using the phone for help from now on.
I hear the knock on my door surprisingly soon after hanging up.
“Neville,” I announce, once I open it.
“Mademoiselle Alexander,” he replies with a slight bow and gracious smile. “If you will accompany me, s’il vous plaît?”
“I suppose I have no choice,” I hint.
His smile remains neutrally intact, giving away nothing.
I sigh and exit with him. Being a New Yorker, I’m a fast walker even in these heels, but Neville, for some reason, seems to be going at a leisurely pace. I check my watch just to make sure.
“He did say eight o’clock,” I point out. “We should probably hurry since I have only a few minutes.”
“I’m sure Monsieur Reinhardt will understand being fashionably late.”
“He doesn’t strike me as the type.”
Neville just smiles instead of answering, still not bothering to hurry.
So I do it for him.
I strut down the hallway in long strides, reaching the elevator ahead of him and pressing the down button. I hear him scurry behind me to catch up. When I turn to look at him, there is the barest hint of apprehension in his face.
Interesting. So, Magnus doesn’t want me to arrive even one minute early.
My thoughts immediately turn to the obvious: another woman. Despite all my misgivings about the man, a flash of jealousy heats my system, leaving me slightly chilled in its wake. At best, I should consider this man nothing more than a professional prospect. At worst, an enemy.
The Shark.
That description of the mako is still fresh in my mind as the elevator arrives, and I walk in first. I do the honors of pressing the button for the first floor since I’m sure Neville will find a way to drag it out.
All of a sudden, I’m very impatient to get to this dinner.
On the ground floor, I’m once again momentarily stunned by how glamorous it is, especially at night. I fit right in with the crowd of equally well-dressed guests and visitors. Not too shabby for a girl from the Bronx.
Then, I remember that every part of this, from the room I’m staying in to the clothes on my body are due to Magnus’ influence…or manipulation. That sets me back on track.
“I suppose I’m following you at this point,” I say to Neville.
“Oui, Mademoiselle,” he says, to his credit without a hint of smugness.
I follow his glacial pace across the grand foyer and around several corners until we are at a point where I can see the elegant entrance to a restaurant. The peek I see through the open doors might as well be a view of what it was like to dine on the Titanic.
In every sense of the word.
Neville’s pace slows down even more, and at this point,
